Kensho
by Mishiko Shinsei
Summary: AU. What if Tsuzuki had lived? Rated for content in later chapters. Multiple pairings. Disclaimer: Just own the words, not the folks.
1. Prabodha

Disclaimer: Just own the words, not the folks.

**Prabodha - Prologue**

The buzzing annoyed him. Kept him awake. He just wanted to sleep. But that damn buzzing wouldn't let up.

'Must be a fly,' he concludes, his assumption verified when the buzzing got closer and a light touch reached his arm.

'Stupid bug!' his mind curses groggily as he automatically reaches to brush it away.

The buzzing stops a moment, then returns, louder and closer.

He groans with annoyance and waves his arms around, trying to discourage the irritating insect.

Finally silence descends, but now he feels himself fully awaken. Sighing in defeat, he slowly opens his eyes.

Then he remembers…

The doctor stands over him, one of the day nurses hovering nearby.

Uncontrollably the tears come.

He sobs, wails. Tears streak his face as he convulses with the force of his pain.

It didn't work. Again. He still lived. And now he didn't even have the resolve to try again.

No, he'd promised himself he wouldn't. He'd promised that this would be his last attempt and if he failed, he wouldn't try again.

But it hurt so much to be alive. Why didn't they just let him go? Why save someone so desperate to die? If possible, he sobs harder, his mind breaking again.

Pulling himself from the bed shakily, he screams his sorrow and frustration as he tries to stifle his tears before ripping out the IV's in his arms. Knocking away the doctor and nurse, he snatches at the bandages on his wrist, knowing that the cuts he'd last made would be completely healed as though they never happened, just like always.

The smooth skin beneath his fingers brings rage and he lashes out at the other doctors and nurses who'd come to help restrain him. He bites and kicks and scratches, wailing all the while, the tears he'd fought back threatening to choke him again.

Suddenly, he can't breath, wilting as he painfully gasps for air. Tears stream down his face as the memories he'd spent six years trying to force from his head or kill with him begin assaulting him anew.

- Ruka.

- Her head snapping back.

- The crack of her neck breaking along with the rest of her bones.

- Blood pouring from the wounds inflicted by her protruding bones.

- His hands reaching for her as she fell, empty.

- His scream of denial.

- His father's fists.

- The pain of his own broken bones overwhelming the shock of what he'd done.

- The first of many nights in the hospital…

His arms slump, defeated. He hadn't been able to make them go away. The memories remain alive, eager to continue his torment. And now he couldn't even escape into death.

Because he'd promised.

The restraints put on him in the familiar hospital bed mean nothing. He wouldn't fight anymore. He wouldn't try to kill himself anymore.

He'd have to live.

**A/N:** Probodha: Sanskrit – means awaking (from sleep or ignorance), becoming conscious, consciousness


	2. Tokyo

Disclaimer: Just own the words, not the folks.

**Tokyo – Chapter 1**

His first day out of the hospital arrives much quicker than he'd expected. As he exits the facility that had been his home so long, he tries not to tremble at the surreal experience of wearing normal clothes and walking down the street.

After five and a half years trying to die, six months in a coma, and two years as a recovering mental patient, he's free. Outside.

People pass by him and he flinches, frightened of their touch, though none had actually attempted to touch him. No one has touched him with anything but clinical detachment, annoyance or violence in a very long time.

Not since Ruka.

Ruka always took care of him. She was his treasure. He'd loved her with every once of his being, more than anyone or anything in this world. And he killed her. She was reaching for him; moving to embrace him when it happened. She'd only wanted to comfort him because those boys had beaten him up again.

For a split second, he'd hated those boys with a vehemence he didn't think he possessed and the power exploded from him. The concussive force had slammed into everything within a ten-foot radius, shattering the table and chairs that his family used for their meals. Startled by the force he felt leaving him, he'd looked up to see the shock pass over Ruka's face as her bones shattered along with the door and rear wall of their small house.

A shudder runs through him as he remembers the alarm in his father's eyes when he'd come into the kitchen to investigate the sound of splintering wood. At the sight of the pile of blood, bone and flesh that had once been his only daughter, he'd scowled at Tsuzuki, his father's face saying he knew what kind of monster he'd sired.

A wail of sorrow had erupted from Tsuzuki's throat, stopping abruptly when his father punched him. Crumbling to the floor, he'd offered no resistance as the man punched, kicked and beat him. Tears of understanding had streamed as he'd felt ribs crack or break, felt an ankle snap under his father's weight and felt his consciousness leave him as his head was slammed repeatedly into the floor.

He sighs sadly. Had it really been eight years ago that he destroyed his family?

Lifting his head with a sigh, he tries to calm himself; a grown man, sitting in the middle of a crowd of people, crying into his knees, stares and jeers assaulting him from all sides. Resolving to at least pretend that he isn't frightened out of his mind at the prospect of being on his own in the world, he rises slowly, clutching the bag of things given to him by his doctor. Purposefully he strides away, seeking shelter on his first night of freedom.

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Waking with a start, he curses lightly, running trembling fingers through his unkempt hair. The nightmares never stop. It's been two years since his release and every time he thinks he'll have more than a few nights reprieve, they come back. Ruka and his father plague his dreams, blaming him, cursing him, saying he isn't human, beating him like those boys always did and he wakes up in a cold sweat. Sometimes, he wakes up in tears.

He hadn't expected a nightmare tonight, not after the blissful evening that preceded it. Idly he strokes the long, black tresses lying across his chest. He had no idea what to do when she approached him, but he's very glad he gave in and followed her lead.

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Haruna gave him a freebie. A night that would have normally cost half his month's salary, she donated to the frustrated virgin. She pitied the 28-year-old whose first glimpse of a naked breast had been at the brothel he cleaned. Haruna had seen him staring at the girls, had watched the cuffs to his head by their bosses to remind him of his place, had seen the longing and fear in those unearthly purple eyes and had decided to act. She also wanted a chance to touch the intriguing innocence hidden behind those pain-filled eyes. Many years and men had passed since she'd known any sort of innocence. She'd freely chosen her life, but being with Tsuzuki had reminded her of what she'd given up. Their night together nearly broke her.

He'd squirmed at every touch. Ragged breathing had accompanied the light strokes against his arousal. Breathy moans were uttered as she licked and teased his nipples. A startled gasp and his eyes rolling back had followed her descent onto his rigid shaft. There was no rhythm that first time around, just jerky movements begging for release. He actually lasted longer than Haruna expected.

That second round, after a brief nap, had proven less frenzied, probably because she chose that time to introduce him to fellatio. Helplessly, he'd clutched the sheets beneath him, too ecstatic to even thrust into her warm, wet mouth. At first, she'd planned to start with her mouth and then guide him into her prone form, but his reaction to her licking, sucking and well-placed nips had kindled a long-dead fire within her and she longed to bring him to climax. Alternating between teasing and bringing him to a close, she'd prolonged Tsuzuki's sweet agony. His release had finally come with a low growl and an arch of his hips. Haruna didn't miss a drop, being an expert in her field.

Their third time, a few hours later in the pre-dawn, had come closer to honest lovemaking than anything she could remember and brought tears to her eyes at it's end. Tsuzuki had rolled off of her, apologizing profusely for some imagined wrong. As assurance, she'd offered a warm smile and a comforting hand on his cheek. It would turn out to be the first of many nights they'd spend together.

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Four years. He's been free of the hospital for four years and still struggles to cope with being alive. There are still moments of oppressive guilt, but a night with Haruna usually chases that feeling away. It isn't love that they have, he knows that, but they do draw comfort from one another. Sometimes her clients are rough with her or verbally abusive and Tsuzuki serves as her support.

A few months ago she had a customer beat her severely. He'd comforted her while she healed, glad he could offer something for the many kindnesses she bestowes upon him, sometimes unknowingly. Like when she doesn't flinch while looking into his eyes or shrink back in fear as so many of the other women working at the brothel do. He and Haruna also share a love of sweets and he always brings something back to split between them whenever the bosses send him out on errands. Sometimes he makes Origami animals for her and she grins happily at him, marveling at his skill.

Origami comforts him. Ruka and he used to spend hours making things together. His father had taught them when they were five and seven. Their mother had run off a few months before hand. Tsuzuki never really found out where, though he suspected himself to be the reason why. The two of them had grown sullen and despondent after her disappearance, so his father thought to distract them with Origami. Later, he'd also taught them calligraphy.

Finding the distractions to be working, he'd added more, sending them to a local dojo for Karate a year later and teaching them to cook when Tsuzuki and Ruka were ten and twelve. Tsuzuki had possessed a natural affinity for cooking and had even entertained the idea of studying it as a vocation, at least before those boys beat it out of him.

The teacher had asked everyone to stand and tell what he or she wanted to do when they grew up. 14-year-old Tsuzuki had said he wanted to be a chef. Though he wasn't the only one with that response, his tormentors had added that to the list of reasons to hurt him.

"As if anyone but your stupid sister would ever eat anything you cooked," they'd taunted as they punched and kicked him.

After a while, he couldn't cook at all, subconsciously associating the act with pain.

Ruka had struggled at first, but then became the primary meal maker for the household, especially after Tsuzuki had succumbed to his fears.

Pausing in his sweeping, he leans against the broom and sighs to himself.

He hasn't thought about such things in years, not since finding out about his father's death year before he left the hospital.

Tsuzuki had been too badly injured to attend Ruka's funeral, not that he'd have gone anyway, but he'd really wanted to see his father off into the hands of the Shinigami.

There'd been an accident. His father had fallen from a ladder and struck his head. A neighbor had found him three days later. Tsuzuki had been beside himself with grief when the majority of his assigned doctors wouldn't let him attend the funeral. They'd determined that attending the funeral of the man who'd nearly killed him would have set back his recovery.

They hadn't understood.

Tsuzuki had never blamed his father. He'd actually thought his father had done the right thing; after killing his beloved Ruka, he'd deserved to die. But no matter how much he'd pleaded, he couldn't go. His attempts to fight his way out had only served to land him drugged and in restraints for 3 days.

Weeks later, he'd found out that Dr. Muraki had gone in his stead.

Convulsively, he clutches at the ring on a black cord around his neck.

The doctor had somehow managed to get his father's wedding band and had presented it to Tsuzuki at one of his therapy sessions. The unexpected present had reduced Tsuzuki to a whimpering, weeping, sobbing mess. That ring was the only thing Tsuzuki made sure to take with him when he left the hospital.

A twinge of guilt pecks at Tsuzuki as he realizes he hasn't written to the doctor since the letter three years ago when he found this job and place to stay. His last day at the hospital, the doctor had given him a bag of things to help him as he re-entered the world. Inside he'd put several changes of clothes, a little food and a fair amount of money. Tsuzuki remembers that he's never thanked the doctor for that.

The sound of shouting in the front hall draws him from his reverie. As he leans the broom against a wall and moves forward, gunshots from that area still him. Suddenly there is screaming and more gunfire. In a panic, he runs up the back stairs to Haruna's room.

Slamming open the door, the sight of a large man emptying his gun into Haruna's stunned form greets him. Her bullet-riddled body slides down her bedroom wall, leaving a wide smear of blood in its wake.

"Haruna…" Tsuzuki whispers in shock.

Frozen to the spot, he barely hears the taunt from the murderer.

"Well, what do we have here," the man sneers.

A hand roughly grabbing his hair from behind crashes Tsuzuki back into reality. It's then that he remembers the other man in the room.

"He's as pretty as a girl," the one holding his hair smirks. Tsuzuki's fear triples when a cold smile graces the larger man's face. His hair is released and he hears the door close behind him.

The man opens his kimono, revealing a yakuza's intricate tattoo. Tsuzuki's desperate lunge for the door falls far short. Fighting proves futile against the imposing figure. Tsuzuki's yukata is torn from him and the large man tears into him. Tsuzuki's screams reverberate, joining the cacophony of others throughout the establishment, as Haruna's corpse stares at him from the floor.

He's not sure when he passed out, but he wakes hours later to pain and blood.

His whole body aches; especially…

Clutching reflexively for the minor comfort of his father's ring since Haruna is forever lost to him, he remembers that his assailant took it with him "as a souvenir."

Curling into a ball, sobs wrack his battered frame.


	3. Nagasaki

Disclaimer: Just own the words, not the folks.

**Nagasaki – Chapter 2**

There he was, Boma, the man who'd stolen the semblance of a stable life from him. It had taken two years and many…favors to find him, but now he could have his revenge.

The years of searching had been hell. Tsuzuki had healed physically, but he no longer slept, just like when he was in the hospital. Every time he closed his eyes, he would be violated again in his dreams. Sometimes Haruna would come to life and watch.

Sometimes she would cheer.

So he'd stopped sleeping about 15 months ago. Anger flexed in his chest and he grabbed the gun in his pocket. Oblivious to the quiet residential street, the man's young children playing nearby, and the wife at his side, Tsuzuki stormed forward.

The first shot into his knee dropped the large man. The remaining five and five of the six he reloaded were administered into his prone body to inflict pain. As Boma writhed on the ground in agony, his wife and children screaming in the background, Tsuzuki removed his shades, kneeling to look into the large man's eyes, amethysts gleaming with madness and rage.

"Remember me," he spat.

Boma's eyes got huge, but all he could manage was a painful gurgle as his lungs fill with blood. Pressing the gun to Boma's forehead with a vicious sneer, Tsuzuki put the man out of his misery.

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His first steps inside were tentative, fearful, as he finally realized his surroundings and his purpose in them.

He'd murdered a man. In front of the man's family and countless others, he'd willingly taken a life. During those long weeks he'd spent healing from the rape and the stab wounds meant to kill him and the subsequent two years he'd spent looking for his assailant, Tsuzuki hadn't spared a moment to think about the consequences of killing Boma.

Stumbling forward amid jeers and yells, clutching his bedding materials, he suppressed the urge to run. There was nowhere to go now. True, the man whose existence had tormented him since that night was dead, but at what cost? As the lock turned on the cell that would be his home for the next fifteen years, he fell to his knees and wept bitterly.

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They were back again, those two men from the floor below his. Every time he showered, they were there. He knew what they wanted. They'd been stalking him for at least three weeks, but he had a 'guardian angel' protecting him as every time he showered, so did Akira.

Akira, a mass murdering Yakuza, had taken a shine to Tsuzuki once he found out the name of the man he'd killed. Boma had been one of Akira's bitter enemies. Finished with his shower, Akira excused himself to dry off. Comfortable in the knowledge that Akira would be only be a few steps away and that those two feared the tattooed criminal, Tsuzuki leaned back to rinse his hair.

A blade at his throat and a hand on his mouth brought a rush of panic. Lifting his head slowly, he saw Akira's body lying near the shower drain, two other tattooed murders smirking as the blood of his 'guardian' flowed out with the water. Fear blanketed Tsuzuki as his eyes flicked to the side at the owner of the knife and his partner. A fist to his gut humbled him, his knees giving out and dropping him onto the damp tiles. Laughter surrounded him as he gasped for air.

What must have been two hours later, he lay bloody and bruised beside Akira's body, a horribly familiar pain radiating from his backside, echoing in his throat. This time, there were no tears, just a barely suppressed rage. He would heal. And he would get them.

The doctor in the infirmary and some of the guards who hadn't been paid to 'look the other way' tried to get him to disclose the names of his assailants, but he refused. He would handle them himself. Once released from the infirmary, he constantly showered alone, waiting for them, but they never showed up. Their refusal of his bait merely enraged him more.

If they wouldn't come to him…

Several days later, the first man, Hiro, fell to a plastic knife filed to pointed fury and stabbed into his back at breakfast. Rather than admonishing him, the month of solitary earned helped Tsuzuki focus more on his task. Once out, he played the 'abashed and compliant inmate' for a couple of months before taking a baseball bat to the next man's head during a game with another cellblock. Sato had been the one with the knife and the first to take Tsuzuki. Bashing in the brutal man's skull had been an immensely satisfying experience.

Sato's murder earned him two months in solitary and four more of intense therapy to determine if he needed to be placed in a mental facility. Tsuzuki had been a mental patient longer than the therapist had been practicing and easily manipulated the man into believing he'd been "cured".

The third man, Anzo, came to him, finally taking the shower bait Tsuzuki had so carefully laid out. Despite all appearances the low-level yakuza didn't die from his head being slammed into the tiled wall. In his rage, Tsuzuki had tapped into his power, channeling it through his hand and crushing the bones in the other man's throat. Because the man had attacked him, Tsuzuki bearing a shallow stomach wound to prove it, he avoided solitary and the prison shrink.

The forth man proved hardest to locate. A year and then another went by, but Tsuzuki couldn't find him. While he searched, prison life changed dramatically for him. Word spread about Tsuzuki's murderous rampage and his status rose, though he didn't really care because one man still remained free of his wrath.

After the killings, he never paid for cigarettes or alcohol and received offers of opiates on a regular basis. His acting on the violence within his soul had gained him respect. Several inmates, and one guard, even offered their bodies to curry favor, unaware that he thought of any sex act sickened him. Boma took much more from Tsuzuki than his second virginity that day. Those in the shower merely reawakened that trauma and the simmering rage behind it.

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Nine years down, six to go.

He took a slow drag on his cigarette. It was a pretty slow day. Actually, it had been a pretty slow few months since Terazuma got out.

Tsuzuki smirked to himself, still amazed that the former detective had kept his identity hidden for 15 years by transferring in and out of prisons all over Japan; that was how he got to Tsuzuki's cellblock. Considering that the Sano brothers, who Terazuma help put away, were in the next cellblock over, being associated with 'that crazy Tsuzuki bastard' probably kept him safer than he would have been otherwise.

'If he'd just left the money there,' Tsuzuki mused about his former friend. Terazuma's one moment of greed had landed him in the service of an opium lord. That service led to the murder of a bank official, which led Terazuma to a 20-year sentence.

After several fist fights and many accumulated weeks in solitary, he and Terazuma had become cordial acquaintances and later friends. They'd encouraged speculation that they were a couple, Tsuzuki prancing around occasionally to bolster the façade, as it kept other "suitors" at bay.

They talked about their lives before jail; Terazuma finding it incredulous that the innocent-looking Tsuzuki worked in a brothel, Tsuzuki sympathizing with Terazuma that his partner, Wakaba, died in a fire before he could tell her he loved her. They played chess, Terazuma, the master, teaching Tsuzuki, the clueless. They fought often for stupid reasons, sometimes sending each other to the infirmary, and sometimes to solitary.

Tsuzuki remembered that time at lunch where they nearly started a riot and laughed quietly. He and Terazuma joked about that incident often.

"_The look on your face when that table almost landed on you…!"_ Tsuzuki would laugh.

"_Yeah, well, the look on your face when I leapt over it and came at you…"_ Terazuma would counter, and they'd both laugh.

Several of their acquaintances repeatedly commented on Tsuzuki's 'deer in the headlights' stare.

His smile faded as he remembered what else happened that day. That day he saw the forth man again, Kaito.

Five weeks passed before Tsuzuki found Kaito again. In the meantime, he'd begun actively avoiding Terazuma, going so far as to throw him out of his cell and punch and curse at him whenever he came near during meals or free time. After three weeks of such abuse, Terazuka had leveled a healthy 'Fuck you' at Tsuzuki over breakfast and left him alone; or so he thought.

It had been Terazuma who prevented Tsuzuki from killing Kaito by braving his rage and pulling him off of the badly beaten man. Tsuzuki had no idea how long he spent cursing, beating and kicking the man in a secluded corner of the laundry room, as his carefully suppressed rage had overwhelmed him. Over four years had passed since that shower, but after seeing Kaito again he'd felt every grab, every thrust, every violation as if it had just occurred.

Terazuma had pulled him away from the man and held him, talking softly through his screams of rage and frustrated tears as guards alerted by Tsuzuki's screams took care of Kaito. A grimace crossed his face as he remembered the torrents of tears those four years later, that hadn't flowed after the act itself. The former officer had somehow gotten Tsuzuki back to his cell and Tsuzuki had spilled everything; telling Terazuma what had happened at the brothel and how his murder of Boma had landed him in the Nagasaki prison. He also told him what happened in the shower and why he'd wanted Kaito dead. Terazuma had listened to him all night, letting him cry as needed.

Once Tsuzuki had been released from another two weeks in solitary, he'd expected Terazuma to avoid him. Instead he'd received his usual greeting when he arrived late for breakfast as usual.

"Damn it, you fucking fairy, can't you ever be on time?" Terazuma had sneered.

Tsuzuki had sat down, smiling in his usual sheepish manner and their lives had returned to normal, or as normal as prison life could get.

A few weeks later, while losing another game of chess to his friend, Tsuzuki had realized his attraction to men; well, actually his attraction to Terazuma. The volatile ex-cop wasn't particularly athletic, but stayed in pretty good shape from working out to pass the time. There were several men more handsome than Terazuma and even more with better bodies, but he'd never felt anything when looking at them. Sometimes when he spent time with Terazuma he'd wanted to…to…

He didn't actually know what as sex had continued to be a nauseating topic for him.

For the next few years of Terazuma's sentence, he'd made sure to keep such thoughts and feelings from his only friend. Though Tsuzuki understood Terazuma's decision to cut all ties once he became a free man, he still missed his friend terribly. Grinding the butt out on the wall, he rolled over in his bunk to sleep.

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After cutting his waist-length hair to just above his ears, shaving his short, thick beard and putting on the suit provided for his release, Tsuzuki barely recognized himself. More than 10 years had passed since his hair had been so short and he couldn't remember the last time his face had been hairless. Squinting, he looked again at his face, stunned by what he found.

He knew he was 45, but his face held the visage of the 26-year-old he'd been when he left the hospital. How was that possible? No wonder the guards seeing him off looked shocked to find out how long he'd been there! He really needed more time to think about it, but after 15 years, all he wanted was to quickly leave that hellhole.

'And leave Tsuzuki Asato behind,' he declared to himself.

Stepping out into free air again for the second time in his life, he managed a wry smile.


	4. Kyoto

Disclaimer: Just own the words, not the folks.

**Kyoto– Chapter 3**

_Dear Dr. Muraki,_

_I know it's been a very long time since I contacted you, but I just wanted you to know that I'm okay, if a little confused. See, I still look exactly the same as I did when I last saw you. I've aged, but yet I haven't. I know it doesn't make sense; it doesn't make sense to me either. _

_Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I'm all right. You can write me at the address on the envelope for now. I'll contact you again when I get something more permanent. _

_Sincerely,_

_Tsuzuki Asato_

_P.S. I've changed my name. I'm now Fukiyoma Yuuri_

Dropping in a recent picture, he sealed the envelope and mailed the letter to the doctor's home.

After what happed in Tokyo, he hadn't contacted the doctor again until his eighth year in jail. He'd sent a short note the hospital to let the doctor know that he was still alive and Dr. Muraki had practically written him a novel in return. They'd continued their correspondence for the next several years, the letters a welcomed distraction from the monotony of Tsuzuki's life in captivity. When the doctor retired during Tsuzuki's twelfth year in jail, he sent Tsuzuki his home address. The last note Tsuzuki had sent before this one was to tell the doctor of his release; that had been three years ago. He hoped that the doctor was still alive and that he might be able to give some explanation for Tsuzuki's current predicament.

The first time Tsuzuki had tried to change his name, the clerks had laughed openly at him for insisting that his birth year was just as he'd named it, making him 45 years old. As they would not process his paperwork 'with false information', he'd filled out new forms using a birth year which made him 26, the age he'd been when released from the mental hospital. With no further questions about any of the other, slightly fabricated, information, Fukiyoma Yuuri was born.

Walking away from the Post Office, he realized that he should have told the doctor why he was using Kyoto University as his address.

"I'll tell him next time," he muttered to himself as he headed to his next class.

As a child, he'd never given University a second thought; or a first one for that matter. Cooking school had been as far as his desires for formal education extended. But after Nagasaki…

All of those people gone in an instant…

Had his sentence ended a few weeks later, he would have still been in the jail when it was incinerated. As it was, he missed the Atom bomb by ten days. Just ten days! The shock and horror of it forced a change in his worldview. Simply existing wasn't enough anymore. He still lived, unlike so many, and he knew he should do something with that life.

Within days of establishing his new identity, he'd enrolled in Kyoto University as a Japanese History Major.

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Defending his History PhD was proving more difficult than he'd expected. His research was sound, the topic valid, the thesis not too long or too short and the language easy to understand.

What more did that crotchety old man want?

He knew Dr. Konoe to be a hard ass from the classes he'd taken from him over the years, but as his PhD advisor he was even worse!

"And another thing, Mr. Fukiyoma…" Dr. Konoe continued, this time berating him for the excessive use of state of being verbs. Tsuzuki took his thesis back at the end of this latest lecture, drooping visibly.

As he sat in the school's extensive library rewriting his manuscript for the ninth time, Dr. Konoe approached him.

"Mr. Fukiyoma, might have a word with you outside," he requested quietly.

"Certainly, sir," Tsuzuki replied just as quietly, obediently following Dr. Konoe outside where they could speak freely. Groaning to himself, he wondered what else the professor could want to discuss about his document.

"Mr. Fukiyoma," Dr. Konoe began, "I don't believe that you are a stupid man, yet you seem to be struggling with this task."

Tsuzuki lowered his eyes. He had been struggling. He kept losing his focus because his sleeping habits had become erratic again. After years of 'mind quiet' the nightmares had returned; or more to the point, he'd acquired a whole new set.

Like the ones about the prison shower...

And the ones about that incident in the hospital when he'd been given an experimental drug that left him physically paralyzed and hallucinating. He'd well and truly forgotten about those seventeen days from hell until a few weeks ago.

Though he freely ingested sake and other alcohol until his body was numb, he eschewed drugs, even when they'd be free to him in prison. But that night, about three weeks ago, the alcohol wasn't sufficiently desensitizing him to his pain and loneliness. He'd taken the offered opiate from a fellow bar-hopperas a last resort, definitely a big mistake. His hallucinations had turned horrific and when the drug wore off and he'd finally gotten to sleep, the hospital memory/nightmare had burst forth.

Some of the orderlies had found it amusing to torture him while he layin that state. They'd swirled lit cigarettes at him and watch his eyes widen in fright. They'd dropped large insects on his chest or arm, laughing when he'd soil himself in fear. They'd…touched him inappropriately, knowing that he couldn't defend himself, nor report the molestation…

Even some of the doctors took turns torturing or humiliating him. That prick Saito would cut him very lightly with a scalpel, and watch the slight wound intently, knowing of Tsuzuki's uncanny ability to heal quickly. As the paralysis hadn't included a deadening of his nerve endings, Tsuzuki had felt every slice. Saito had tended to frequent Tsuzuki's thighs, neck, ankles and biceps, meaning the pain had a tendency to be sharp and intense. Had Dr. Muraki not caught Saito torturing him a little over a week into Tsuzuki's paralysis, he's certain that the torment would have continued.

He sighed to himself. Why was he thinking about this now? It wasn't like he could tell Konoe any of that.

"Mr. Fukiyoma?" Dr. Konoe interjected.

"Y-yes, Sir," he stuttered, raising his head from where he'd dropped it to his chest forlornly.

"This is nothing to be ashamed of, Mr. Fukiyoma," he soothed, placing a fleeting hand on Tsuzuki's shoulder. "It happens sometimes, especially to those who take themselves so seriously."

Tsuzuki smirked. Of course he took himself seriously. He was only still alive because of a personal promise to stay that way.

"The reason I called you out here, Mr. Fukiyoma," Dr. Konoe continued, "is because I believe you could benefit from a mentor to assist you with your mental discipline, and I have just the man in mind. With his help, I'm certain you would finish your dissertation in no time."

Tsuzuki eyed the smiling man questioningly.

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Wow!

That was…

He'd never felt…not from…

Panting heavily, he laid beneath the man, clutching at him almost desperately, legs still wrapped around the warm body above him. Slowly, the arm tight around Tsuzuki's waist loosened as the hand on his rear also lost its firm grip. A low moan and an empty feeling accompanied the form sliding out of him, settling into a more comfortable position at his side. Tsuzuki snuggled against the wide chest, an unexpected feeling of contentment covering him. A warm hand slid lazily through his sweat damp hair.

"See, I told you it would be alright," the other commented, adding a light kiss to Tsuzuki's forehead.

"Seii," he whispered, "I…I…"

"Shh," the calm voice replied, brushing his lips lightly. "Rest. We'll talk later."

"Mmm" Tsuzuki mumbled, snuggling further into the warm embrace, sleep quickly claiming him.

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Tsuzuki's thoughts were swirling. How had it come to this?

He'd needed help to finish his thesis and Dr. Konoe had put him in touch with a former student, suggesting that the man could help him regain his focus. His would-be mentor had graduated from Kyoto University with degrees in Business and Finance and held the position of Finance Manager for the entire Kyoto government!

Upon meeting Tatsumi Seiichiro, Tsuzuki had been more intimidated by the man's imposing aura than by any yakuza or jail inmate he'd ever encountered.

"_M-Mr. Tatsumi,"_ he'd stuttered with a jerky bow.

"_Mr. Fukiyoma,"_ the tall figure had responded with a textbook perfect bow.

Tsuzuki had stood there another five or ten minutes, unable to speak. Piercing, royal blue eyes had studied him, convincing Tsuzuki that the man could see his barely held in check trembling. Tsuzuki swore that he'd seen a smirk of satisfaction cross the financier's face before he'd directed him to take a seat, Tsuzuki nearly falling onto the soft couch behind him. They'd then shared a pot of tea and taken their first steps as a team

'And somehow we got here,' Tsuzuki mused, watching his love happily making breakfast for the two of them.

His lover.

Seii had promised that Tsuzuki would enjoy his first time as a willing uke, and he'd been absolutely right. With kindness, it was a completely different experience. Kindness made all the difference.

"And love," he whispered to himself, eyes lingering on the yukata clad form in front of him.

He couldn't deny it anymore. Despite his best efforts not to, he'd fallen in love with the man padding around in his small kitchen, deeply in love. He'd been in love with Seii for nearly two years.

After finishing his dissertation and successfully defending it five years ago, he and Mr. Tatsumi continued to spend time together as friends instead of mentor and student. They enjoyed many of the same foods and shared a particular passion for chess, though Tatsumi bested him regularly. They also both liked to do Origami, Tsuzuki being the master in that arena.

Tatsumi introduced him to Tai chi, which benefited Tsuzuki immensely. The meditative art had settled his mind and spirit much more that he'd expected. Its forms required a lot of concentration, but the resulting 'mind quiet' proved reward enough for his hard work. He had moved quickly though the basics and onto intermediate, impressing even Tatsumi, who'd been an avid practitioner for more than twenty years.

It was after an evening out of drinking that Tsuzuki had unwittingly discovered their mutual attraction.

After a light dinner, they'd retired to Tatsumi's apartment for a few games of chess and a little more sake to close out the night, as had become their custom. Feeling bolder than usual, though nowhere near drunk, Tsuzuki had suggested a friendly wager of a few thousand yen on their last game of the night. Tatsumi had accepted and promptly whipped his ass.

In four moves.

Eyes wide with surprise, Tsuzuki had known then that Tatsumi had been humoring him for years and was as much a master of chess as he was Tai chi.

"_Well? Pay up!"_ Tatsumi had smirked, leaning back and crossing his arms with a smug grin.

Suddenly, Tsuzuki's body had taken over and by the time his mind had cleared, he'd crawled across the chessboard, scattering the pieces all over the floor, and locked lips with his friend. Abruptly remembering himself, he'd pulled back in horror and scrambled up from the floor, stumbling toward his shoes in the front hall.

Homosexuality was completely unacceptable in polite society and Tsuzuki had just 'outed' himself; well, in a way since he wasn't actually homosexual.

"_Not that it matters,"_ he'd scolded himself as he'd shoved his feet into his shoes and grabbed his coat, in too much of a hurry to put either on properly.

When Tatsumi had grabbed his arm and pulled him into a hungry kiss, Tsuzuki had been completely caught off guard. Though they hadn't gone any farther than several great kisses and mutual groping on the couch before Tsuzuki had eventually gone home, that night marked their beginning.

Their relationship eventually moved beyond oral sex and mutual masturbation. In their first encounter, Tatsumi had been forced to relinquish the role of seme to Tsuzuki after seeing the stark fear in Tsuzuki's eyes as he'd tried to spread his lover's legs. Tatsumi simply guided Tsuzuki for his first experience as seme and hadn't asked Tsuzuki about his reaction. Even now, after finally switching roles, Seii had allowed him to keep that secret.

As Tatsumi brought their breakfast to the table with a smile, Tsuzuki again wondered what the man was doing with him. That this well-known financial guru, who had even advised those in the service of the Emperor, would be sitting in the poor apartment of a former mental patient, murderer and convict, content to chat and eat after a night of intense lovemaking boggled him. He didn't even know Tsuzuki's real name!

A despondent frown landed on Tsuzuki's face at that revelation. Tatsumi know nothing about him. The warm caresses and professions of caring were for a man who didn't exist.

With a muffled sob, he thrust away from the table, slamming himself into the bedroom.

The comforting hand in the middle of his back a few minutes later only made him more despondent and he buried his face in the pillows of his un-made bed.

"Yuuri, what's wrong?" Tatsumi attempted soothingly.

"Don't call me that!" Tsuzuki choked.

"Then what should I call you?" Tatsumi whispered, momentarily taken aback.

Tsuzuki decided that he might as well get it over with, since he didn't really deserve a man like Tatsumi anyway.

"M-my name isn't Fukiyoma Yuuri," he confessed into the damp pillow. "It's Tsuzuki Asato. I-I'm a murderer. I spent 15 years in jail in Nagasaki until right before the bomb. I came here to start over."

The hand lifted from his back.

"Why are you telling me this?" Tatsumi murmured.

Resigned to his fate, Tsuzuki rolled over to face his first true love.

"Because you deserve to know," he offered dejectedly.

Tatsumi stood slowly, his usual power and grace completely absent while he dressed. As the front door closed, Tsuzuki rolled back onto his stomach and sobbed.

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A month passed without any contact from Tatsumi, not that he'd honestly expected to hear from his love. That part of his life was over now. Destroyed. If he'd just kept his mouth shut…

No, he loved Seii too much to continue with the lie. They'd had five wonderful years together, three of them as lovers as well as friends. That had been more than enough time taken from Tatsumi's life; more than enough time wasted on a man who'd killed his own sister.

Trudging home through the chilly night, he pulled the collar of his coat up over his ears, hoping to stave off the icy blasts of winter wind. He'd spent the last few hours drowning his sorrows in sake as he had every night for the last few weeks. Not that it helped. It had actually started to become a bit of a problem since he'd been late to his first class four times in the last two weeks and was honestly in danger of losing his Assistant Teacher position in the History Department.

"_Once more this month and I may have to dismiss you, Mr. Fukiyoma," _the head of the department had scolded just that morning. _"You have a promising career in teaching if you would take it more seriously."_

"_Yes, Sir,"_ he'd replied, suitably admonished.

Hunching deeper into his coat and cursing himself for not wearing a hat, he turned onto his street and headed up to his apartment building.

He'd barely gotten his shoes off and hung up his coat when he heard a light knock on his door. Glancing at his watch, he wondered who could be coming by at that hour. There were at least three of his students who knew that showing up at 1:00 am wouldn't bother him. He opened the door, expecting one of them.

"Where the hell have you been?" A shivering Tatsumi snapped. "I've been waiting out here for almost three hours!"

"S-Seii?" Tsuzuki stood frozen by the sight of his beloved.

Impatiently, Tatsumi pushed past Tsuzuki and into the apartment, slamming the door behind him. Quickly kicking off his shoes and hanging his coat and hat, he headed into the kitchen to start the water for tea, leaving a dumfounded Tsuzuki in his wake. Once the water was heating on the stove, he stepped slowly toward Tsuzuki.

"Well, Asato," he intoned quietly, surprising Tsuzuki with his true given name. "Don't I a least get a hug?"

Tentatively, Tsuzuki started forward, finally throwing himself into Tatsumi's arms, tears streaming. Tatsumi held him tightly, eventually leading Tsuzuki to the couch to continue comforting him. The teapot's whistle was forgotten as comfort turned to kissing and then to passion, culminating in Tsuzuki's second uke experience on the living room floor, hastily grabbed cooking oil used for lubrication.

"I don't care who you are," Tatsumi gasped into Tsuzuki's ear as he moved in slow circles inside the slightly smaller man's tight passage. "I love you. I love you, Asato."

Tsuzuki replied with a quiet whimper as he clung to Tatsumi's shoulders, opening himself as much as he could when Tatsumi resumed his thrusting.

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"Why did you come back?" Tsuzuki whispered as they cuddled in his warm bed after a quick shower.

"I told you why," Tatsumi replied comfortingly. He lightly kissed Tsuzuki's eyelids, cheeks and lips.

"B-but I'm a criminal!" Tsuzuki blurted.

"Were a criminal," Tatsumi corrected. "And knowing you as I do, I'm certain that you must have had a very good reason for what you did. I don't condone it, but you've served your time according to the law, so who am I to question?

"I…y-you don't understand," Tsuzuki whispered, clutching tighter to Tatsumi's shoulder.

Tatsumi lifted the emotionally stricken face to his.

"Do you love me, Asato?"

"Yes," Tsuzuki replied without hesitation.

"Then that's all I need to know." Tatsumi's soft kiss graced his lips. "Now go to sleep. We both have work in the morning."

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He'd attended the funeral, but only as Seii's best friend, not his beloved. No one outside of either of their households knew about that aspect of their relationship but them.

They were very discrete, going so far as to 'double date' on occasion and in Tatsumi's case, to finally accept an arranged marriage with a business partner's daughter. Though the two never actually consummated their marriage, the woman bore "Tatsumi" a son two years later, which Tsuzuki and Tatsumi had found quite amusing. The woman never told anyone the truth to avoid the scandal and the man who'd been her lover was paid handsomely to go away.

Staring at the slate gray headstone, Tsuzuki found himself in tears again. It had been six months since Tatsumi collapsed at work, dead from a stroke and a massive heart attack before he hit the floor. He was 45. They'd had ten years of bliss together, but it still wasn't enough.

Dropping to his knees and then falling helplessly into a heap, Tsuzuki sobbed for the loss of the only other person besides Ruka that he'd loved with his entire being. Tatsumi Seiichiro had loved Tsuzuki Asato, the murderer and former mental patient without question. How could he go on without that unconditional love in his world?

He lay there in his sorrow for hours, undisturbed by the other visitors on this day of Tatsumi's birth. Everyone knew how deep their friendship ran, most liking their connection to that of twin siblings, so Tsuzuki's intense grief was expected.

Slowly he pulled himself up from the ground, dirt clinging to his dark pants and white shirt and smudged with tears around his face.

"Good-bye, Seii," he whispered hoarsely, touching the stone lightly.

Today would be his last in Kyoto. He'd sold most of his possessions over the last few weeks, the lease on his apartment expiring at the end of the month, and he'd resigned as a Japanese History professor at Kyoto University. He couldn't stay in Kyoto any longer. It was too painful.

Fukiyoma Yuuri would be forgotten, Tsuzuki Asato too. He would start all over again.


End file.
